


You're Dear To Me

by loveinamaltshop



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Dirty Talk, Feelings, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Van Days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 15:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14264382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinamaltshop/pseuds/loveinamaltshop
Summary: Patrick, boy of eighteen and trucker hats and questionable status of virginity, has Pete’s shoulder pressed with one hand onto the venue’s storage room door, where it’s shaking from the bass as much as his thighs are.Pete and Patrick figure out how to ride out their post-show highs in less-than-conventional manners.





	You're Dear To Me

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Walk The Moon's "[Shiver Shiver](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3zSc767VGPg)." Enjoy!

 

Patrick has no idea what he’s getting himself into.

This is the only thing on Pete’s mind when there’s a hand on his cock, clumsy but tight enough to be pretty good. He decides there are no bad hand jobs, just lazy ones. And where he’s watching the moonlight from the window illuminate the back of Patrick’s head, this is definitely not the latter.

Patrick, boy of eighteen and trucker hats and questionable status of virginity, has Pete’s shoulder pressed with one hand onto the venue’s storage room door, where it’s shaking from the bass as much as his thighs are. The other callused one jerks him off lazily before he twists his wrist and thumbs over the leaking head. Pete blames the damn thing they’ve got going on since day one that puts them too in-sync to be comfortable enough for either of them to acknowledge. He’s pretty positive Patrick can read his fucking mind. 

There’s a wet slide of lips over Pete’s neck, chapped with too much eager tongue. He whimpers nonetheless. 

It’s a favor returned from when Pete licked the side of Patrick’s neck onstage, following a single trail of sweat. He remembers catching Joe’s eye because come on, man. They’d been deprived of a shower for a whole 72 hours. But Patrick had tasted like a boy and Pete fucking loved the taste of cute boys in bands. He wonders if that triggered Patrick’s current state of horniness. They’ve always had post-show highs, but nothing quite like this. Instead of reaching a conclusion, he bucks up into Patrick’s hand.

He feels Patrick rub the front of his own jeans against Pete’s thigh and he groans, making Pete shiver at the sound. This was awesome. Patrick should be making those kinds of sounds all night. 

“We were fucking amazing,” Patrick murmurs harshly against Pete’s ear before he’s ducking his head and sucking a bruise right under his jaw. Patrick with a boner seems to not equate to Patrick conscious about consequence. 

_ “Nng,” _ Pete agrees.

He hears a low chuckle emitted from Patrick and it’s his stupid asshole chuckle that he makes when Pete’s embarrassing himself. Apparently this is one of those times. Pete retaliates by grabbing the back of Patrick’s neck and sucks on his bottom lip. Open mouthed, Patrick moans. His hand speeds up on Pete’s dick, clumsy again, desperate to get him off. It’s always a competition with Patrick.

“Patrick,” Pete says into Patrick’s mouth “come on, baby. Get me off and maybe I’ll have time to suck your dick before anyone notices we’re gone.”

Patrick responds with an inward groan. The erection against his thigh is back, pumping rhythmically. It leaves a beautiful vision behind Pete’s eyelids of Patrick fucking him. 

“Pete,” comes out of Patrick, rough and lower than any note Pete ever remembers playing “Really?”

Talking, Pete learns, slows Patrick’s hand down. He decides to put his notoriously big mouth to use in lieu of letting Patrick do any more speaking. 

“I don’t say anything I don’t mean, Trick,” Pete scratches at Patrick’s scalp, tugging experimentally. They’re both panting harshly. “You’d like me on my knees, wouldn’t you? I could take you down my throat if you asked nice.”

“Please,” Patrick gasps as he twists his wrist again, just right, fist tight enough. 

“If you asked  _ real _ nice,” Pete closes his eyes and tries to level his voice, so  _ so  _ close “You could fuck my mouth.”

Somewhere between his words, Patrick realigns his grip and it tucks at the bit of sensitive skin under the head of Pete’s dick, making him shudder and come all over Patrick’s hand in thick streaks. 

Pete can’t help himself. He bites at Patrick’s neck, no different than he did much earlier. Fortunately for the both of them, Pete is mindful of consequences. He doesn’t suck or bite any harder than he’s supposed to. He doesn’t leave any mark he was there. He tastes, selfishly as he’s riding out his orgasm, hearing nothing but Patrick’s humming against his shoulder. 

Patrick’s staring at him, red mouth open when he pulls away. Slowly, his hand meets his mouth. Pete’s eyes have adjusted enough, thankfully, to witness Patrick sucking on come-stained fingers. He makes a show of swirling his tongue around his thumb. 

No way this kid already actively killing him. 

“Let me—“ Pete reaches for the front of Patrick’s pants. He winces when he feels dampness. “Oh. Huh.” 

Patrick looks away. He shoves Pete against the door, but Pete knows Patrick long enough it’s on some principle that Pete Wentz never wins against him, ever. 

“Hey, it’s fine,” Pete says softly as he’s buttoning up his jeans. His hand cups Patrick’s jaw, kissing him sweetly. Patrick kisses back. It’s a little more reserved, since they’re both down from their post-show high.

“Whatever,” Patrick mutters. Petulant as he was eighteen, just like Pete liked them. 

Pete slaps his cheek lightly in retaliation. “You’re an ungrateful little shit,” he says. He smiles gently as he’s pulling Patrick in his arms. Patrick pushes him away. 

Patrick rolls his eyes because Pete’s not the one who came in his pants and has to settle with being overly defensive to regain some sense of dignity back. “Let’s go. I don’t think Joe’s actually going to score tonight.”

“You expect too little from him,” Pete sighs dramatically as he’s running fingers through his fringe. 

Patrick snorts, a normally unattractive noise but Patrick’s just done Pete all sorts of favors so it sounds cute than anything now. “Let’s go,” he repeats.

“Alright, alright,” Pete says, opening the door and checking the outside. There were only several turned backs in the distance. He motions Patrick to leave with him, and he looks relieved when they’re reminded of how dark the bar actually is, but still sways a limp hand over his crotch as casually as possible. 

Pete’s arm snakes through Patrick’s and he doesn’t pull away. Pete considers this a personal victory. They course through the gyrating bodies, the glorified yowling of the closing act, and the harsh beat of artificial lights against their skin. Patrick looks fucking good under Christmas light blue.

They’re greeted by Andy at the door, who has is arms crossed. “Where the hell have you two been?”

“Patrick was beating me off in the supply closet,” Pete chirps, arms winding tighter around Patrick’s single one.

Patrick punches one of the arms around him. Pete has never felt more loved. “Pete!”

“Very funny,” Andy rolls his eyes “We gotta get a move on.” He eyes them both “Thanks for helping pack up by the way.”

Pete grins while Patrick mumbles a sorry when they’re outside, hit by the night chill. 

They get to the van with Joe perched on the driver’s seat. Patrick sidles up beside Pete in the back seat even though he’d called shotgun since before the show. When he spreads an worn hoodie over his lap, Pete figures out why. 

It’s Joe’s first time driving at night for the tour and he has a pack of Skittles spread over the dashboard, which he swears will keep him awake better than caffeine ever will. Patrick doesn’t trust him and insists they stop by for coffee  _ please. _

Pete ends up picking up a pack of gum along with Joe’s coffee when they find a gas station convenience store. His noisy chewing is enough to keep Joe, who barely touched the coffee between his knees, awake. 

Patrick ends up sleeping on his lap, eyebrows scrunched together. Pete kind of wants to kiss them apart from fondness alone. He resorts to folding lazily at the gum wrappers to make a chain, an old habit he picked up as a kid with restless hands. He pieces away at a bit of gum from his mouth and sticks it on one end of the chain to connect to the other. 

“Now you can't leave me, you little shit,” he rasps sharply in the dark of the van as he reaches for Patrick’s hand. Joe gives him a funny look through the rearview mirror. 

Pete rolls his eyes. Joe didn’t get true love. He slips the makeshift ring on Patrick’s right hand. He considered the left, but he figured he’d save it for a real, white gold one with their names engraved on the underside or some shit. Not that he’d been thinking about it, say, since he first heard Patrick sing. That would just be  _ creepy. _

For now, he had to focus on getting Patrick to like-like him first. He glances over at Patrick’s sleeping face, then back onto the ring. He’ll give it a year.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments make my day! Feel free to drop by my Tumblr, @[loveinamaltshop](https://loveinamaltshop.tumblr.com/), as well.


End file.
